


A Confidential Source

by Cuppa_tea_love



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Daniel is a little bit broken but it's ok because he's going to work through it, F/M, Headcanon, L&L Automat, Pining, canon-compliant imho but you're welcome to think of it as AU if you'd rather, hey look i made an oc, i didn't think i could do that, inter-seasonal period, seriously so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuppa_tea_love/pseuds/Cuppa_tea_love
Summary: Peggy is missing Daniel after he moves to L.A. and nothing on earth will induce her to talk about it.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Original Character, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 24
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's always been my headcanon that Daniel & Peggy did eventually go for that drink after Season 1. A forthright girl like Peggy couldn't possibly wait around all those months for a second invitation! When Season 2 was about to come out, I remember seeing a cast interview that was setting the scene for S2, that went along the lines of, "Something's happened between them, but we don't know what." (Of course, I've trawled the internet since and can never find it again, so perhaps I just imagined it!) I took that to mean that they did start seeing each other - maybe not as official bf/gf, but heading that way - and something went wrong that nipped it in the bud. As S2 unfolded, there was nothing to either confirm or deny whether my assumption was right, so it's always stayed firmly lodged in my brain. This fic is a little exploration of that idea.
> 
> Many thanks to Paeonia for your help and inexhaustible patience!

_ 1947 _

Peggy sat in the crowded Automat with her half-eaten sandwich, staring at her half-written letter. Even though it was the busy dinner rush, she felt some comforting solitude in having a booth to herself amidst all the noise. Angie was home at the penthouse tonight, and to be honest Peggy was happy not to be bombarded with her friend’s lively chatter while she wrote. She preferred the anonymity of a bustling crowd, where she hoped her look of focussed concentration would deter any overly-friendly New Yorkers from helping themselves to the seat across from her. Her monthly letter to her parents was already a week late, and she had determined that she would not return home this evening until she’d got the jolly thing finished.

The trouble was, she simply had nothing to report. Life was feeling a little grey and tedious again this winter. The festive season was over, and January had stretched into February in a yawning chasm of cold and loneliness. She dove into her work with her usual vigour, but found only the old familiar emptiness there. The satisfaction of finally getting some recognition was hard to enjoy with no one to share the triumph with anymore. Instead of the warm, friendly presence she had come to rely on, everything around her was a reminder of the pain and confusion her heart had been plunged into in the last few months. 

Outside of work, she had no appetite for any kind of social life. She dreaded coming home. Angie often worked evenings at the theatre now, so there was nothing to do but whatever work she had brought home with her. A punishing work-out usually followed, after which she would collapse into bed and, if she was lucky, sleep. Then, when Angie managed to drag her out to social gatherings, all she could think about was getting home. Angie teased her that she was so blue, it could only be guy trouble, but Peggy smiled and denied it. She couldn’t talk about it. She couldn’t consign Daniel to the stuff of girlish gossip.

She missed him. There, she’d admitted it, if only in her head. She missed him with an ache that filled her whole being. How could this have happened to her again so soon? The numbness that had settled on her after Steve’s death had had but a brief reprieve—just a few months of happiness before everything crumbled to pieces. She ought to be better at dealing with the sadness a second time, she told herself sternly. Daniel hadn’t even died, he’d just...left. She wasn’t sure which had been more painful.

“Excuse me, Miss,” said a man’s voice above her. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Peggy hid her annoyance at the interruption. She only half glanced up as she nodded her assent, her mind still absorbed with the thoughts that threw it into the greatest turmoil. She heard the man drop his briefcase and sink into the bench seat with a comfortable sigh, and she struggled to focus. This was no way to get her letter written.

She recalled Angie telling her about a play she’d seen last week, so she wrote about that as though the experience was her own. Her parents wouldn’t know the difference. Next she would write about the weather, and that she hoped they were keeping warm over there. She would write that she’d had some successes at work that she was proud of, though obviously she couldn’t give any details. She would write that she’d had a lovely luncheon last Saturday with some of the old girls from the Griffith, without mentioning that she’d invented an appointment so that she could leave after half an hour.

“Sorry to trouble you again,” said the man now sitting diagonally across from her. “Could you pass the salt, please?”

Peggy handed it to him from her end of the table, and noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring, but on his right hand. She looked up at him properly, and only then did she notice that his left arm was missing. His jacket sleeve was pinned up neatly. She felt a pang for Daniel, and then felt silly for making such a crude connection.

However, there was something else she had noticed as he spoke that distracted her again from her task. “How nice to hear an English accent,” she said with a smile. “From the Midlands?”

“Herefordshire,” he confirmed. “Well spotted. A little village called Sollers Hope. Do you know the area?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid,” she said apologetically. “I’ve been to Hereford itself, but only for a day, to see the cathedral. I’m from Hampstead.”

“You’ll have driven through Sollers Hope, then, if you came from London way, but there’s no reason on earth you should have paid it any attention,” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Fred, by the way. Fred Havers.” He reached his hand across the table.

“Peggy Carter,” said Peggy, shaking it. 

Now that she looked at him, she saw that he was somewhat older than herself: late thirties, if she had to guess. His hair, a middling shade of brown, was already dulled down by a smattering of grey. Not only was his arm missing from somewhere above the elbow, he also seemed to have been burnt on the same side: there were scars peeking out from the collar of his shirt, spreading up the left side of his neck to his jaw, where a strong, broad chin dominated his features. He was solidly built without being heavy, and Peggy could tell that he would reach an imposing height when he stood. Yet there was a gentleness about him—the kind borne of a life spent being careful of where he flung his long limbs.

“How long have you been on this side of the Atlantic, Mr Havers?” asked Peggy, capping her pen for the moment.

“Twelve years, on and off,” he said. “My wife is a local, so I’m here to stay. How ’bout you?”

“Only a little over a year. I needed a fresh start, after the war.”

“Ah! There’s nowhere like New York for a fresh start! Here for good, do you think?”

“We’ll see.”

They chatted a little about things they missed from home—crumpets, Marmite, fish and chips with salt and vinegar—and she learnt that he was a journalist with the  _ Examiner _ , and that his wife was visiting her sister in Connecticut with their two sons, but he hadn’t been able to take time off work to join them. Apparently, he’d ended up eating here every night this week. 

Peggy thought with amusement that if they’d been sharing a table in a pub back home, they probably wouldn’t have exchanged a word. There was something about being fellow foreigners that brought out an enthusiastic camaraderie, not unlike the comradeship that the returned servicemen shared. 

This made her think of Daniel again, and she let the conversation lapse. If he were here, he and Fred would share an instant connection, she supposed, as fellow amputees. They would understand things about what the other had been through. Maybe Daniel would be able to open up to this stranger better than he ever had to her, as easily as she was talking to him now about Yorkshire puddings.

After a minute or two of silence, Fred spoke. “Yes, I lost it in the war,” he said softly. “Algeria, ’42.”

Peggy jumped, and realised that she’d been unintentionally staring at his pinned up sleeve as she thought of Daniel. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said. “I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s quite all right,” said Fred politely. “I’m used to it.”

“No, please allow me to explain,” she said hurriedly, determined not to let him think she was merely gawping at him. “It was only that I was thinking of someone else I know— _ knew _ , I should say—or, that is...” She was making a mess of this. “A man I worked with—well, a friend—who is also an amputee.” There was no doubt that her foolish mumbling and schoolgirl blush were telling him everything she was trying so hard not to say. “I happened to be thinking about him before you joined me, and then I saw you and...I was just thinking, that’s all. I’m very sorry.”

To Peggy’s great relief, Fred didn’t seem to find this embarrassing. He chuckled. “I see. Well, I would say that’s an extraordinary coincidence, except, of course, there are a few of us around these days. Is that who you’re writing to?”

“No. I...don’t think he wants to hear from me, to be honest.”

“Ah. Things didn’t end well?”

She shook her head. “It all went terribly wrong, somehow. I think...I somehow mucked everything up. I never fully understood how.” She couldn’t believe she was admitting such a personal thing out loud. To a stranger—a married man, no less—whom she had only known for quarter of an hour! The swirling mass of memories and questions she’d been keeping locked inside her for months was clamouring to come out, but she fought to maintain control. She needed to change the subject.

“Do you think...” Fred said gently, before Peggy could summon an interesting opinion on the weather. “Forgive me for asking, but do you think there’s any chance his injury—how he felt about it—had something to do with it?”

She raised her eyes sharply to his. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I am something of an authority on the subject,” he said, his mouth curving wryly. “And he wouldn’t be the first. It’s a hard thing to go through. A very hard thing. Sometimes it affects a person in surprising ways.”

“But he...!” Peggy stopped herself and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr Havers. You don’t want to hear all about my romantic woes.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. It was especially hard on a lot of the young fellows. I was hit in ’42, as I said, so I was a bit ahead of many others in my progress. After I got back on my feet, I used to go and visit the hospitals and chat with the newer amputees. Tell them how I was getting my life back on track, try and show them that it wasn’t the end of the world. A lot of men find it rather difficult to talk about, even to their families, but I’ve never had that problem. My mum always said I could talk for England!” He laughed a little at his own expense, then looked at her shrewdly over his coffee cup. “So if you’ve got questions, you’re welcome to take advantage of the fact that you never have to see me again after you ask them.”

Peggy felt a rush of gratitude and relief. His mother was probably on to something, she thought. Words seemed to tumble out of this fellow with a casual ease that she was surprised to find in an Englishman. She wasn’t in the habit of talking about her personal life, to anyone, ever, but something about him was putting her inexplicably at ease, despite herself. He wouldn’t be fazed by anything she told him, she was sure. Perhaps she could let herself talk about it, after all. Perhaps this was her chance—her only chance—to finally get some answers.

“So tell me about this young man of yours,” prompted Fred. “Arm or leg?”

“Well, he’s not my young man, for one thing,” said Peggy firmly. “At least, not anymore. But it was his leg that he lost.”

“Above or below the knee?”

“I don’t know, actually.” She searched her recollection. “Above, I think.”

“Ah. If you don’t know—I’m guessing you never had the talk.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “The talk?”

“Here’s the thing about leg amputees, I’ve always thought,” said Fred, settling back into the bench seat comfortably. “As long as they’re able to wear a prosthetic, for the most part they can keep fairly private about the whole thing. All the little everyday challenges. You might doff your prosthetic half a dozen times a day, but you need never do it in public.”

“Half a dozen times a  _ day _ ?” exclaimed Peggy. 

“Oh, yes,” said Fred grimly. “It’s a full-time job being on a prosthetic. Horrid great uncomfortable things they can be, and if he’s on his feet all day there’s no reprieve. But because it’s all hidden away inside trousers and shoes, a lot of the people in your life have never seen you without it, might even never know.”

“He does walk with a crutch,” said Peggy, feeling rather strange to be talking like this in his absence. “So it’s not completely invisible for him.”

“Yes, but there’s a big difference between walking with a crutch and being an amputee,” explained Fred patiently. “Being  _ seen  _ as an amputee, even if everyone knows.”

She looked at him curiously. “How so?”

Fred thought for a moment. “Let me put it this way. After I lost my arm, all I could think about was getting back to my Janie. I just wanted to see her, to have her by my side. I thought if we could only be together, then I could be strong for her and she could be strong for me. 

“But as the time approached for her first visit, I found I was absolutely terrified. I’d told her what had happened, so she knew what she was in for, but I realised that once she saw me, there would be no going back. I would never again be the man she remembered. I seriously thought about telling her not to bother coming, that she should go her way and I’d go mine. If it hadn’t been for the thought of our boys, I almost might have done it. Some did.”

“She would have been heartbroken!” said Peggy with conviction. “To have that choice taken away from her—never even to have had the chance to see you, to  _ show  _ you how much she cared.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, “and obviously I’m awfully glad now that I did no such thing. Still, that first week or so after she came might just have been the hardest time of my life.”

“But you made it through, together,” said Peggy.

“We did. But what I’m trying to say is that for a lot of leg amputees, they get stuck in the first part of that story: the part where people  _ know _ but haven’t  _ seen _ . When they finally get their prosthetic, it seems so liberating to be able to hide everything away. I used to be quite envious—even when I wear a prosthetic, you know, it’s still very visible. But it’s a blessing and a curse for them: sure, you get spared the funny looks all day, but eventually you find that you might want to let someone into your real world, and you don’t know how to begin. A lot of the lads have best friends who have never seen them without their prosthetic, never mind the ladies. They find themselves turning down invitations for tennis or swimming, even though they’d be perfectly capable of joining in, because they can’t bear to be seen in shorts or swimming trunks and break the illusion. I’ve seen some men just about explode with the pressure they put themselves under.”

Peggy was still indignant. “But don’t their friends deserve the chance to know them as they really are, to show them that it doesn’t matter to them?”

“Of course they do, and the ones that push through the awkwardness and decide not to care are usually glad they did. I never said it was rational. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a very real hurdle for a lot of people. There’s a quiet sort of stoic pride in keeping your struggles to yourself.”

“You’re describing him to a tee,” said Peggy, thinking of the way Daniel would quietly go about his business, letting people’s snide remarks and sidelong glances slide right off him like water off a duck’s back. “I always used to admire that quiet pride. But I certainly knew that the leg was gone. I thought that he understood how I’d feel about it. Sometimes he would joke about it, and I never minded.”

“Yes, a lot of us do that,” said Fred sadly. “It’s easier to joke than to talk seriously, and even now I find it easier to talk to other people’s families than my own. Or strangers in a diner.” He inclined his head towards her with a smile. “But there still has to be a  _ talk _ , one day. A first time that it comes up, when he really tells you the reality of living with an amputation, and finds out how you honestly feel about it. It’s an incredibly difficult thing for a chap to do: to admit that there are these immense challenges in his life, physical and mental, and somehow convey that he doesn’t want help or pity, but he needs you to know and understand what it’s like.”

A waitress passed by their table and topped up their drinks. Peggy knew the moment that she noticed Fred’s arm, because she gulped, blushed and fumbled his coffee, splashing some into the saucer. The poor girl apologised profusely and got even more flustered, but Fred waved her away with his friendly smile and Peggy took a napkin from the other end of the table, dropping it onto the saucer as he lifted his cup. How tiresome it must be to face such behaviour all day long! She admired his calm attitude, but still...she could easily understand why all those leg amputees wouldn’t want to advertise their situation. Daniel might get a few curious looks at his crutch and limp, but nothing like this.

“Case in point,” whispered Fred as the waitress, with one last breathless apology, moved on.

Peggy chuckled. “I suppose it’s not worth pointing out that I’m still a little mortified that I was almost as bad when you first sat down?”

Fred waved his hand. “Fiddlesticks!” he said. “I can tell you’re made of stronger stuff. You know, this isn’t bad coffee.”

They both sipped their drinks companionably for a minute, and Peggy noticed that they were sitting directly opposite each other now, though she hadn’t been aware that she'd moved.

“So tell me what it’s like, then,” she said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“You were saying that it’s hard to help someone understand what it’s like to be an amputee. I’ve been thinking about it a great deal lately, for obvious reasons, trying to imagine what it must feel like to live with. You say you like to talk, so I’m putting you to the test: help me understand.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” He sipped his coffee again. “Well, Miss Carter, it’s a lot like suddenly acquiring a very needy, very hard to please pet.”

“I  _ beg _ your pardon?”

Fred grinned. “That’s how I sometimes describe it to the folks in the hospital. At first, you only think about the fact that you’ve lost something. Of course, the sense of loss is tremendous, and there’s a very real grief that goes along with that. But in the process, you’ve also gained a stump. And stumps take constant looking after. Cold weather, hot weather, damp weather, going up a flight of stairs, getting jostled on a crowded subway, sitting for too long, walking for too long, your prosthetic: you name it, it affects your stump. It protests in various ways, some of which are rather painful.”

“Is that the ‘phantom pain’ you sometimes hear about?” asked Peggy.

“Oh, you don’t miss a trick, do you?” replied Fred, looking impressed. “Phantom pain is, yes, one delightful and many-faceted example of the sort of thing I mean. But the stump itself can also get quite painful, depending on what you’re asking of it. After a while, you get to know what it’s going to do before it does it, but you are constantly thinking about it and what it needs. We all end up with a few favourite tricks to placate our stumps when they act up. Your leg amputee chap will be ducking into the Gents’ all throughout the day as it swells and shrinks, to pad it out with more or fewer layers so that it fits in the prosthetic.”

Peggy was astonished. “I had no idea about any of that. That sounds...like an utter bloody nuisance, frankly.”

Fred chuckled. “That’s a fairly accurate assessment, yes. Leg amputees do it rough in terms of the stump: the blessed things are taking their weight all day long, wedged into that socket. They have to be so careful not to get blisters or anything that could break the skin and turn into an infection. Besides, the whole amputation process is an interruption to the way the limb is supposed to function. It ends up being the part of the body that has the least advantages, yet it has to work the hardest.”

“I like that thought,” said Peggy, a soft smile playing unbidden on her lips. “That sounds like him, his whole temperament: working harder than anyone, whatever the disadvantages. Always dependable, determined to keep going.”

Fred quietly watched her as the little smile spread more broadly across her face. She tried to avert her gaze, but her whole expression brightened in a way that was impossible to miss. It was clear that she was still terribly fond of this man, whoever he was. But as quickly as it appeared, the smile faded, and a sad concern weighed down on her again. He was itching to know the story that was behind it all.

“Anyway, so much for the stump,” he continued, as though he hadn’t noticed anything. “Another thing you gain, of course, is the prosthetic itself. I had assumed you’d just slap it on and get on with your life, but it’s a whole different kettle of fish from an actual limb. Like any piece of equipment, it has its own follies and foibles that you have to get used to.”

“You do use one, then?” she asked.

“Only sometimes. It’s not very comfortable with this.” He gestured towards the burns visible on his neck, leading Peggy to wonder how far they went. “By the time it had all healed up enough to start wearing the prosthetic, I’d got used to doing without. But it has its uses.

“Then, of course, you have to think about how difficult it is now to do perfectly ordinary things. That’s the aspect in which we arm amputees have the unenviable upper hand...so to speak.” He pointed to his empty sleeve and twitched the stump of his arm, and Peggy shook her head at the terrible joke. “Obviously the specifics vary depending on the limb, but the principle is the same: there’s not a single thing in the day that isn’t at least a little bit more difficult, even brushing your teeth. I’m sure it’s occurred to you that he would have had to learn to walk all over again, but it’s also sitting. Standing. Even lying down in bed is different—you absent-mindedly go to roll over and it doesn’t quite work. Everything you do, you have to think about it before you do it. It gets better with time, but it still catches me out several times a day.”

“It’s a wonder you ever get anything done,” muttered Peggy, feeling somewhat overwhelmed as she thought it all through.

“Yes, but you’ve got to understand that most of us, we want to work, and we want to get through the day without allowances being made for us all the time. The moment you grumble and complain, you become an object of pity to others. So you maintain a cheerful façade, even on the days when everything seems like a battle.”

“I can definitely understand that,” she said. “But it does sound absolutely exhausting.”

“It is that,” agreed Fred. “Most days, when I get home, I just sink into my armchair and my wife brings me a drink. She’s learnt not to fuss over me and fetch and carry all the time, but that drink at the end of the day is the exception. And the boys know that, until that drink is finished and I’ve had a moment to rest, Dad is closed for business.”

Peggy found herself almost rethinking everything Daniel had ever done. He  _ did  _ seem to be ducking in and out of the office bullpen a lot, even on quiet paperwork days. And she had definitely noticed that some days his limp was more pronounced than others. She supposed that must indicate a bad stump day. And there were times when he stumbled and winced as he got up after they’d been out for drinks together, often chatting until the last call. Perhaps, all those times, he’d been sitting there patiently trying to ignore the ever-increasing pain or discomfort in his leg.

“Now, you must tell me what happened between yourself and this young man,” said Fred. “Perhaps I can shed some light for you into what he may have been thinking.”

Peggy’s insides squirmed uncomfortably. She wasn’t used to being on this side of the interrogation, however kindly it was meant. “You should have been a priest, you know,” she grumbled, “drawing confessions out of people like this.”

“Actually, once upon a time I was planning on becoming a vicar,” said Fred.

Peggy stared at him. “You’re not serious! When? What happened?”

He shrugged. “My mother thought I’d have an aptitude for it. I read Theology at University, but as a young lad, I just couldn’t settle into a quiet curacy in a country parish. I had a thirst for adventure, and journalism opened a lot of doors for travel and excitement. As a war correspondent, I certainly got it. But I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to get back into all that travel now. I rather found that being blown to pieces in North Africa put me off adventures for a while.”

“Well, yes, I can see how it might take the shine off a bit,” said Peggy dryly.

“Nowadays, I find myself longing for a quiet life where I can simply help others, and I sometimes wonder if my mother didn’t know me better than I knew myself,” he concluded with a sigh.

“Mothers can be a nuisance like that,” said Peggy. The war had brought out different things in different people. She and Daniel had found that they were meant to fight, whereas Fred didn’t seem to have an aggressive bone in his body. Yet she sensed that his experiences had deepened his understanding of and interest in people—qualities that could serve a man equally well in journalism or ministry, or a dozen other fields. “You know, Mr Havers, if that’s what you want to do, you should do it. There’s nothing to stop you. It’s never too late.”

“Perhaps. I’m happy at the moment helping out at the hospital in my spare time, and, as often as I can, I try to write stories that matter. I’ve written a fair few pieces about the struggles of the returned vets and their families, particularly amputees, and I hope they’ve made a difference.”

“Bloody hell!” burst out Peggy, with sudden panic. “You’re not going to print this conversation in the paper, are you?” 

“No, no, don’t worry about that,” he assured her quickly. “For one thing, it’s starting to become old news now. There isn’t much more to say, though I do like to keep my ear to the ground about how people are coping. I don’t think I’ll be writing much more about it until we’re talking about five years on, ten years on and so on. And in any case, I would never betray a source and print specifics without her permission.”

“Thanks goodness for that,” she breathed. “Anyhow, I think you’d make a wonderful hospital chaplain. It sounds like you’re already doing half the work of one.”

He smiled wistfully at her words. “I do think about it,” he admitted. “But it’s not a job you can simply wander into without a good few years’ experience behind you, and honestly...it was tiring enough retraining in my own profession after I lost the arm. I can’t imagine summoning the time and energy to retrain in another field from scratch. You’re right that it’s not too late, and I have plenty of working years ahead of me, but it’s been a long few years, and sometimes I feel about eighty. And in the meantime, I’ve got a family to support.”

Peggy nodded to acknowledge the truth of that. “Well, I don’t mean to pry, and I certainly shan’t tell you how to run your life. But if you were talking to yourself in one of those hospital beds, and you heard the line of reasoning you just gave me, what would you say?”

He grinned guiltily at her. “I’d say that you can always find a way to do the things that are important to you.”

“Well, I’ll leave that with you then,” she said briskly, and drained her cup.

He gazed at her inscrutably for a moment, then pulled himself together. “Another cuppa? Don’t think I didn’t notice that with that little digression, you’ve managed to avoid telling me about what happened between you and your fella.”

She arched her brow. “Oh, you spotted that, did you?”

“We men of the cloth are a nuisance like that,” he joked. “Even amateur ones.”

Peggy sighed. “We might be getting beyond the powers of tea. I’ve been eyeing up that cherry pie for the last half hour. Care for a slice?”

“What an excellent idea. No, put your purse away: my treat, I insist.”

Peggy opened her mouth to protest, but Fred was already on his way to the automatic boxes. He fed his money into the coin slots, took out a slice of cherry pie and one of apple, placing them on the tray slide while he shut the little doors. He didn’t use a tray, just deftly picked up the two plates together with his single hand and carried them over to the booth.

“Well done,” he said, sitting down.

“For what?”

“You thought about getting up to help me carry these, but then you thought better of it. I appreciate that.”

“I suppose you must be allowed to know your own capabilities better than I can.”

“Exactly. None of us likes asking for help, but we like it better than having it constantly offered.”

“Well, I’m glad to know my instincts are sometimes right,” she said, hating the self-deprecating tone that slipped out. She took a mouthful of pie and savoured the burst of sweet, tangy freshness for a moment. Any second, Fred was going to ask again what had happened between her and Daniel, and much as she longed to get it all of her chest, she didn’t know where to begin. 

The Automat was quieter now that the dinner hour had passed, with just a smattering of people providing a low hum of chatter in the background.

“So, tell me,” said Fred around a mouthful of apple pie, “where did you meet this man?”

Peggy toyed with her spoon, but she couldn’t put it off any longer. “We worked together,” she replied, “and we always got along. We were sort of natural allies in all the office politics. Just very good friends for a while, and I never thought of anything more.”

“And where was this?”

“At the phone company,” said Peggy, knowing he was probably wondering how serious the office politics could really get. “But we went through a difficult time last year. One of our colleagues died in a car crash one night, and then not long afterwards, our boss died in a horrible accident.” These were practised lies from the official reports, but she wished she could say more.

“Oh, how awful,” said Fred sympathetically. “Wait, the phone company...not that terrible gas explosion?” Peggy nodded. “I heard about it, of course, though I didn’t cover it myself. The chap who did was well shaken up afterwards. He’d happened to be in the street at the time. No one else was hurt too badly, I think?”

“No, but we were all pretty upset, as you can imagine,” said Peggy. “The whole office was in disarray for a while. But in a way, it brought us closer.”

“Understandable,” said Fred, nodding.

“I mean, it brought...him and me closer. It was shortly after that that he asked me if I’d like to go for a drink.”

“Life and death situations—they make you think about what really matters.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I was surprised, but pleased. It took us a while to actually get round to it, because we’re both very busy and sometimes we work different shifts. And we had some misunderstandings. But we got there in the end, and it was just...” She breathed a deep sigh. “Lovely. Relaxed and easy, and we could chat about this and that for hours. I don’t think I’d laughed so hard since before the war—I’d probably just about forgotten how—and he’s got a good head on his shoulders, so there was plenty of intelligent conversation, too. Culturally, of course, we ought to have been like chalk and cheese, but though we bickered, it was always just the most tremendous fun.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Fred. That little smile of hers was making an appearance again, he noticed. It suited her. “Did the subject of his leg ever come up?”

She shook her head. “Not properly. He’d joke about it sometimes, as I said, and I’d laugh, but it never went any further. We weren’t avoiding it—or at least I wasn’t. I was just enjoying his company. If I thought about it at all, I assumed he’d bring it up when he was ready.”

“There’s some wisdom in that,” said Fred. “Though at the same time, I imagine you could have been waiting for a long time. And perhaps, after a certain amount of time had passed, he might have started to worry that you  _ were  _ avoiding it, and it might have got harder to bring up.”

“True,” she conceded. “And, in fairness, there were some things in my past that I knew we’d have to talk about eventually, too, and I wasn’t eager to rush that day. So no, we never had  _ the talk, _ as you put it. After everything we’d been through, it was a relief to talk about pleasant, everyday things, rather than momentous, life-changing ones.”

“All perfectly fair and understandable,” he said. “Tell me, then: what went wrong?”

Peggy rubbed a weary hand across her forehead. “It’s so obvious in hindsight, but at the time I honestly didn’t think it was a big problem.” She exhaled and looked at Fred bleakly. “You see, I walked in on him when he didn’t...when he wasn’t, you know, wearing his leg.”

“Ah,” said Fred, a world of comprehension resounding in the syllable.

“He’d been away from his desk for a while, and someone said they’d seen him heading down to the basements, so I went looking for him. I opened a few doors, and suddenly, there he was, sitting on a table in his drawers and vest, with his artificial leg—or prosthetic, should I say?—leaning against a chair nearby. I have no idea what he was doing down there. He looked like he might have been waiting for someone.”

“How intriguing!”

“I was surprised, of course, and I think I jumped—he was in his underwear, after all.” In fact, once she’d got over the initial surprise, she hadn’t been able to resist a little laugh, recalling another embarrassing locker room incident when the tables had been turned. But she was hardly going to mention that now.

“And how did he react?”

Peggy could see him, as vividly as if it had been yesterday, and the horrified look that had come over his face, how he’d jumped up off the table the moment she stepped into the room and reached for the chair to steady himself.  _ Uh....Peggy _ , he’d stammered, looking everywhere but at her and scrambling to turn around, in a futile attempt to hide his bad leg from view.  _ What the hell are you doing down here? _

“I could tell he was uncomfortable,” said Peggy, feeling very far away from Fred and the Automat and this conversation, “and, of course, I thought he might have been worried about how I’d react. I wanted to show him that it didn’t matter to me, so I...”

She’d strolled up to him confidently and cheerfully, at first just to find out what he was up to. But as she came nearer, he’d trembled visibly, pleading with his eyes, looked almost sick —  _ Peggy, please, don’t...just go _ — and it was all so achingly endearing that she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Something that would communicate far better than words.

She kept walking forwards, closing the gap between them, her heels clicking on the empty wooden floor, heart thumping with resolve. She didn’t care how many legs he had: he was handsome and brave, and she was falling in love with him. She’d thought about kissing him the last couple of times they’d been out together, and when she reached him now, though he could hardly raise his eyes to meet her, she didn’t hold back.

It might have all worked out as she’d hoped, too, and for one heady moment she felt him melt into the kiss, before.... 

“Miss Carter? Are you still with us?” Fred had once again been watching her quietly. “You don’t have to tell me what happened if you really can’t. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Peggy pulled herself back to the present. “He fell,” she said matter-of-factly. “I suppose he just forgot himself for a moment. Suddenly he lurched sideways, made a grab for the chair on the way down, and the prosthetic clattered to the floor.” Fred groaned and put his head in his hand. “I moved to help him up, and of course I appreciated that he might be embarrassed. But I’m not stupid: I do realise that if you stand on one leg, chances are higher than normal that you might fall over. It didn’t bother me. I was ready to laugh about it and move on.”

“But he wasn’t,” guessed Fred.

Peggy shook her head. “Suddenly he was barking at me to get out. I stood my ground for a moment—I’m usually pretty imperturbable when it comes to being ordered about—but something in his voice...” She shuddered. “He was deadly serious. I just got out of there, and went back up to the office in a bit of a daze, wondering if it had all really happened. The whole thing can’t have taken more than a minute or so.”

“When did you next see him?”

“As it happened, I was sent out shortly afterwards on an errand,” said Peggy, remembering the flurry of activity that had greeted her upstairs after her short absence, due to an urgent call-out to a rather gruesome crime scene. She didn’t know when Daniel had resurfaced from the basement, but he must have got a surprise to find half the agents gone. “It ended up taking all day, so I didn’t get back to the office till well after five. The next day,  _ he _ was out on a job of some sort for the whole day. I was getting rather anxious to see him by this stage, you may imagine.” 

Fred’s face was a mask of apprehension. “Well, go on, then. Put me out of my misery!” he said. “What happened when you finally saw him?”

“The moment he saw me the following morning, he blushed, about-faced and left the room,” she said, and Fred buried his face in his hand again. “All day long, he avoided me. Couldn’t even look me in the eye. I tried repeatedly to corner him, and I don’t know how he managed it, but he was never quite where I thought he was going to be. Finally, I approached him at his desk in full view of everyone, where he couldn’t possibly squirrel away.” What she’d planned to say, she hadn’t entirely decided. She’d had half a mind to order him into Interrogation and be done with it. “Before I could open my mouth, he shoved a file into my hand—without looking up from what he was working on, mind—and said, as professionally as you like, ‘Take this through to Thompson for me, would you, Carter?’” 

She had taken the file and looked at it in hurt astonishment for a moment. She’d kissed him, and _this_ was how he spoke to her? On sudden impulse, she’d smacked the heavy file back forcefully onto his desk, sending all his paperwork sliding and cascading off the desk in a flurry. Then she’d stormed out of the office in such a rage, she was sure the other agents could feel heat emanating from her. “Suffice it to say, I went from confused, to hurt, to absolutely bloody furious, in seconds.

“After that,” she continued miserably, “we could hardly even bear to be in the same room together. It took me a good while to stop being angry, and every day that passed made it less and less likely that one of us would be brave enough to speak first. Being cold and distant with each other had just become a habit, and I didn’t know how to break it. I had a feeling we both wanted to, though. We’re both of us so jolly stubborn, that’s the trouble.

“Then suddenly, one day it was announced that he was taking a promotion to a post in Los Angeles!” Fred audibly gasped in surprise. “And he’d never even thought to mention it to me beforehand, let alone talk it over. I was angry all over again that it really must have been all over between us, for good, and he never had the courage to say it to my face. I really wouldn’t have thought it of him.”

“Good grief!” said Fred. “I was  _ not _ expecting that.”

“Neither was I,” she said grimly. “I suppose that was his reward for pouring all his effort into his work while he was avoiding me. For the last month or so before he left, he was in all sorts of meetings, travelling between various cities. I hardly saw him. We gave him a little farewell do at the office, but I couldn’t bear to stay long. And just like that, he was gone.”

Fred drew a deep breath and let it out with a puff of his cheeks. “What can I say, Miss Carter?” he said. “I’m so terribly sorry. What an absolute tangle.”

“What upsets me most is that it makes me question everything I ever knew about him,” said Peggy. “He was always so strong and sensible, and for the most part seemed fairly sanguine about it all. To see him suddenly react so...well... _ childishly,  _ if I may use the word, was something of a shock. M uch more so than seeing him without his leg.”

“Can he really take the sole blame for that, though?” asked Fred gently. “Perhaps he was the  _ first _ to react badly, and I’ll come back to that in a minute, but you yourself admitted that once you started reacting in anger and frustration, you were stuck in a groove and couldn’t get out. Can we, perhaps, assume that he was also feeling stuck — that once he started acting out of his humiliation, he couldn’t stop?”

“I know what you’re going to say about that,” said Peggy. “That he was embarrassed, and that his severe reaction was irrational, but justified.”

“Not just embarrassed,” said Fred. “Humiliated. Mortified beyond words. Remember, he had probably been rehearsing a dozen little speeches for weeks, about how he could bring up the subject, and gently prepare you to see him without his prosthetic, one day, in the distant future. I do believe you when you say that you really weren’t bothered by it, but it wasn’t just  _ your _ feelings that were a factor. He would have to prepare himself to be seen by you, too. For him, perhaps, jumping to the end of the equation all at once was simply too much too soon. 

“And then for him to fall, when you were doing everything to be so understanding...” He shook his head. “I would rather be caught in another Nazi air raid than to have been him that day. No, that’s not an exaggeration, it’s the literal truth! It’s like the nightmare where you show up to school in your underwear, only a thousand times worse. No wonder he acted a little childishly at first. And then you were angry, and he was embarrassed for making you angry; you were hurt, and he was angry at himself for hurting you. Stuck, you see?”

“Even after I calmed down a little from being so angry,” she continued, “somehow I was still...I still felt...I don’t know,  _ betrayed _ is too strong a word. Disillusioned? Or...or...” She gesticulated, as if doing so would conjure up the word she wanted.

“Disappointed?” suggested Fred.

“Well...yes,” she said, and at the admission, she suddenly felt a wave of emotion flooding her out of nowhere. She could feel it rising in her chest, threatening to escape in a great sob. The nameless feeling that had been dogging her steps for months, filling her with shame that she could never quite place, was out in the open at last. She had felt disappointed in him. That was why it hurt so much. And she was ashamed of it, because half of her wanted to hold onto her anger, and the other half thought she should feel only compassion.

With all her might, she fought to control herself and swallow back the tightness in her chest. “I suppose that’s terribly wicked of me,” she said in what she hoped was a casual tone.

Fred looked her right in the eye. “Not at all,” he said sincerely. “For all I’ve been saying about the hardships an amputee endures, his suffering doesn’t make him blameless in all things, nor does it mean that his words and actions don’t affect others. He reacted badly, and he hurt you. It wasn’t intentional, I’m sure, but it happened, and he will need to acknowledge that to himself and to you. But even so, I would hate you to judge his whole character by one weak moment. Aren’t we all entitled to those, from time to time?” Peggy smiled weakly. “I don’t know this man, of course, but I’m sure that the man you always saw—the strong, hopeful one—is who he really is. Who he aims to be, at least, which is sometimes the most telling measure of a man’s character.”

“I don’t know who he is anymore,” said Peggy bleakly. “Now that he’s gone, I can’t help dredging up everything he ever said in my mind, over and over, till I hardly know what really happened. What made it even more baffling was...well, every now and then it seemed someone was doing me little anonymous favours, and I was sure it must have been him. I’d come in to work after he’d been on the night shift and find all my filing was done, which he knows is a job I hate. Or I’d find out from someone else that he’d put my name forward for an interesting job, though never things that he’d be working on as well, so it might have just been a ploy to avoid me. He brought me a piece of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving, as he’d done the year before—just left it on my desk without a word, and then disappeared for the rest of the day! What good is pie if you never talk to each other?  _ Why are you laughing? _ ” she finished crossly.

Fred had let out a great delighted guffaw. “Nothing, it’s just...” He shrugged. “He still loves you, that’s all.”

“How can you say that?”

“Trust me,” he said, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look, I think we’ve established by now that a life-changing injury like his cuts right to the heart, and puts perfectly sensible, intelligent men at the mercy of emotions that are sometimes far beyond their control, right? Well, we all know the same thing happens with romance, don’t we? Show me a man who isn’t occasionally a clumsy or cocky idiot in front of the woman he loves! You put the two together, and sometimes you just get a mess. But I absolutely guarantee you, he did all those things because he still cared about you.”

“But he  _ left! _ ” cried Peggy furiously. “He ran away and left me here. What am I supposed to do with this information now?”

“Yes, that does seem a bit drastic,” admitted Fred, “and I don’t really know what to advise you to do with such a great distance between you. There may be a way to reach out. Maybe all he needs is some time without having to see you every day and be embarrassed, and he’ll be able to calm down and get his head straight.”

Peggy didn’t know what to say to that. It wouldn't be easy to be the first to get in touch. On the other hand, she was sick of the whole business, of watching herself mope about like a lovesick puppy. Here was actionable intel. She could do something about it.

She would call Daniel tomorrow.

“I think they’re about to throw us out of here,” said Fred, looking around.

Peggy had also noticed the dimming lights and the waitresses standing impatiently behind the counter with brooms and mops. “How could it have got so late?” she moaned, picking up her woeful attempt at a letter, which she had long since cast aside. “This was not how I expected to spend this evening!”

“I hope you don’t feel it’s been  _ such  _ a great waste of your time,” said Fred, pulling his coat round his shoulders. “I myself can’t claim to be sorry, when there’s only an empty house waiting for me at home.”

“When do they get back?” asked Peggy as she stuffed her stationery haphazardly inside her handbag and searched for her gloves.

“Tomorrow. Can’t come soon enough for me! But listen,” he said earnestly, “Janie does a good old English Sunday roast for us every week, with all the trimmings, just the way you’ll remember it. And treacle pudding, or Bakewell tarts, or apple crumble and custard for dessert.” Peggy groaned with longing. “She’s a splendid cook, and she taught herself a thing or two when we did our big trip home as newlyweds. If you’re ever pining for a good feed, or just a good yarn, you must get in touch.”

“You certainly make a tempting offer,” she said, then cocked her eyebrow at him. “But I thought you said I never had to see you again after I asked all my embarrassing questions!”

“Well, even the best of us can eat our words,” said Fred with a chuckle. “And if your young man is ever back in town and wants someone to talk to, you’re welcome to send him my way, too. Let me give you my address.” He pulled out a business card from his inside pocket and turned it upside down. “Would you mind?” he asked, indicating, and Peggy held the card steady on the laminate table top, while he fished out a pencil and jotted his home address and telephone number on the back.

Peggy thought of the small stack of her own cards that she kept in her handbag. Some were S.S.R. branded, for professional contacts, while others, which she kept in a different case, were the innocuous New York Bell Company ones. They were useful to have for friends and family, but she suddenly felt hesitant. She had to be careful about giving out her details as a general rule, and although she was sure Fred was perfectly trustworthy, she was feeling acutely aware of all the personal information she’d already given him. People who knew too much about her were liable either to be in danger, or to be a danger to her. 

She reasoned that he wouldn’t necessarily expect her to return the gesture, so she simply smiled, took the card and told him she’d be in touch. Clad in coats, scarves and hats, they nodded their thanks to the waitresses and braced themselves for the cold. Once through the revolving door, Fred put his briefcase down so he could shake her hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carter.”

“Likewise, Mr Havers.”

“Fred, please,” he said warmly.

“Peggy,” she responded with a smile. “Thank you for a most enlightening discussion. I only wish it could do any good now.”

“I truly hope you get another chance,” said Fred. “I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion if you do. At the very least, I hope the two of you can find a way to remain friends, and heal yourselves of hurt and bitterness.”

“There you go, sounding like a chaplain again,” she said wryly.

“You know, you can’t just bring that up whenever the conversation becomes uncomfortable!”

“Such penetrating insight! You’re only making the likeness more apparent,” she said, as she started to walk away. “Good bye, Fred.”

“Good night, Peggy,” he called. “Don’t forget my invitation!”

“I won’t!”

Once they were half a block apart, she stole a look at him over her shoulder. There was something oddly comforting about his lopsided silhouette as he trudged down the street. He was indeed a tall man, and his lofty physique would have drawn the eye even if he’d had a full complement of limbs. But something about the way he bowed his head and ploughed forward into the cold wind spoke of a simple determination, a quiet purpose. Just watching him made her feel, somehow, that everything was going to be all right.

Or maybe that was the wealth of new intelligence he’d left milling around her mind, she thought as she made her way along the street. She didn’t even know how to begin processing it all. Before tonight, she had thought that there was nothing about an amputated leg that could shock or surprise her. She’d seen far worse things than severed limbs in the war, after all, but she’d never been around for what came next—the day-to-day reality that all those men faced after she helped bundle them onto stretchers and they were driven off. Not until she’d met Daniel. 

And then, well, she’d been too busy treating him just like everyone else to really think about it. If she was honest, she’d been rather proud of herself for that. She hadn’t stopped to think that there might be more to understand until it was too late to ask him. Only after he walked out of her life had she had burned with curiosity.

Now, she finally felt like she understood him better—or, at least, that she could have done. It was a release from one source of pain, but it left behind another: the pain of what might have been.

She turned Fred’s card over in her gloved fingers, wondering what to make of his offer to stay in touch. Would it be strange, now that he’d heard all her most personal thoughts? If she hadn’t thought she’d never see him again, she might have been a bit more guarded in what she’d said, taken more care not to sound too self-pitying and gloomy. On the other hand, it would definitely be nice to have another English friend in town, now that Mr Jarvis had moved away with Howard. Especially one who offered an edible incentive...

_ Juicy roast beef with sweet, tender vegetables. _

Her mouth watered. It was ever so tempting. But supposing she did invite herself for Sunday lunch one day, how on earth would she explain herself to his wife? “I met your husband once, and we talked all night about a man I loved who is an amputee, and with whom I messed everything up spectacularly”? Absurd! Maybe the woman was used to her husband always bringing home strays—he seemed to have the personality for it—but she wasn’t sure she cared to be one.

_ Golden roast potatoes and fluffy Yorkshire puddings, drowning in rich gravy and horseradish cream. _

As for bringing Daniel along to meet Fred, the thought was absolutely ludicrous. She would rather go up against a dozen Leviathan-trained assassins than ever, in a thousand years,  _ ever _ confess to Daniel that this conversation had taken place— _ if  _ she ever saw him again. Her mouth curved. Fred had attributed almost the same thought to Daniel just a little while ago. 

_ Fred thought Daniel still loved her... _

Her heart leapt with hope when she thought about it, but caution followed close behind. Tomorrow. She would call him tomorrow, and then she would know for certain.

_ Buttery apple crumble, just a hint of spice, with pools of velvety custard. _

She pulled out her card case and flicked through her phone company cards, and those she’d accumulated from various tradesmen, friends and contacts here in New York. She tucked Fred’s card behind them all, right at the back. Then she shut the case with a satisfying snap and dropped it back into her handbag. 

She would never use it. But it would be nice to know it was there.


	2. Epilogue

_ 1950 _

Daniel and Peggy made their way slowly down the sidewalk to their favourite little Italian restaurant, one chilly February night in New York. They had flown in from Washington, D.C., at the beginning of the week to help the New York S.H.I.E.L.D. office on a case. Their business had been wrapped up neatly by the end of Friday’s shift, so they had decided to stay on for the rest of the weekend and enjoy a little break. It was all too easy at home to let work take over their lives, both in and out of the office. Here, they could relax and seek out some of their favourite old haunts from their S.S.R. days. Even if it meant braving the icy cold weather.

Peggy was sorry that their new roles with S.H.I.E.L.D had required a move back to the East Coast, forcing Daniel back to these climates. The California heat hadn’t been without its challenges, but he’d been starting to get by without his crutch back in Los Angeles. As soon as the D.C. mornings had started turning frosty, however, out came the crutch again. He never complained, but it was just another thing that made life complicated.

Peggy slipped her arm into his, but she was really bracing herself to steady him if he lost his footing. It hadn’t snowed for a few days, but there was still plenty of it lying around, swept to the sides of the pavement in big drifts. She hugged her scarf tighter around her ears with her free hand as a gust of freezing cold air blew past them. Their slow pace was not very conducive to keeping warm.

“What do you think you’ll order?” asked Daniel.

“I don’t know, I’ll decide when we get there,” said Peggy impatiently.

“I’m just dying for Stefano’s ravioli. Been looking forward to it all week.”

“I can’t say I ever memorised the menu,” she replied absently. “Darling, what do you say on Monday we get Agent Avery to...”

But before she could finish her sentence, she suddenly felt her heel skid sideways and her feet slide out from under her, and with a small yelp of surprise, she overturned and landed sprawled on her back, half cushioned by a nearby obliging snowdrift.

She looked up and saw Daniel peering down at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. “Well, well, well. Peggy Carter, flat on her back. Now there’s a sight you don’t see every day.” He grinned maddeningly. “I think that’s what you get for trying to talk about work when we’re on vacation. Admit it: you never dreamed you’d be the one landing on your ass out here tonight!”

Peggy laughed, and then found she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Seriously, sweetheart, you didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” She shook her head, still seized with mirth. “Right, well then, are you planning on getting up anytime soon?” People were starting to stare—or at least glance briefly as they walked past and went about their business. “I’d offer to help, but then we’d both end up down there, wouldn’t we?”

“Oh, please,” said Peggy, gasping for breath. “After the week we’ve had, I may just stay down here and sleep.”

“Then you’ll be sleeping alone,” said Daniel firmly. “I’ve got a date with Stefano’s ravioli.”

Peggy had another little fit of the giggles. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m getting up. It’s bloody freezing down here.” She got herself up to a sitting position, and heartily wished she’d worn sensible shoes. “Why did we brave this wretched city in this weather?”

“Here,” said Daniel with a smirk, and offered her his crutch. “It’s the closest I’m going to get to giving you a hand up.”

She rolled her eyes, but took the crutch and hauled herself up with it.

“You’re a mess, Mrs Sousa,” said Daniel, taking advantage of his two free hands to brush the snow and street debris off her back.

“Well, heaven forbid I disgrace you, Chief,” said Peggy sarcastically. They both laughed at the obsolete title, which seemed to slip out sometimes in playful moments. Peggy turned to face him, her eyes bright. He looked so handsome in his hat and coat, bathed in lamplight. What a heavenly escape this was, to have a night out just for the two of them...

“Peggy?” said a voice a few yards away. “Peggy Carter?”

The couple snapped their heads around in unison. Peggy gasped. “Fred Havers!” He was the last person she had expected to see. He looked just the same as she remembered him, briefcase and all. He was bundled up against the cold in a heavy coat, the empty sleeve tucked into the left pocket. 

“Have you hurt yourself?” he asked with concern, looking at the crutch in her hand.

“What? Oh, no, this is his,” said Peggy. She shoved it back to Daniel, looking a little flustered. Fred watched him slip his arm into it with the faintest flicker of a smile.

Peggy didn’t seem to be getting around to introductions, so Daniel stepped forward to offer his hand. “Daniel Sousa, Mr…Havers, was it?” he said. “I’m Peggy’s husband.”

“ _ Are _ you just?” Fred set his briefcase down and shook hands heartily, then raised an eyebrow at Peggy—who, to Daniel’s surprise, blushed and looked away. “Well, I’m  _ very _ pleased to meet you, Mr Sousa.” He seemed to be enjoying the encounter immensely. “Tough night out for you and me in this cold, eh?” 

Daniel looked even more mystified, wondering, perhaps, how Fred could possibly have made the connection so quickly. He made a polite little noise of agreement and left it at that.

“And how are you, Peggy?” Fred continued. “I’m surprised it’s taken us this long to bump into each other again, though it is a big city.”

“I moved to Los Angeles for a couple of years,” she explained, “and now we live in Washington. We’re only here for the week.”

“I see.” 

Peggy could see the little cogs turning in his brain. “I’ve seen your by-line from time to time,” she said hurriedly. “Your pieces on the North Atlantic Treaty last year were brilliantly insightful. But nothing lately?”

“Change in vocation,” he said with a wink. “Come to Sunday lunch with Janie and me, and I’ll tell you all about it. No, I insist,” he added, as she looked ready to politely decline. “You’ll still be in town, won’t you? You never took me up on my offer last time, and I’ve often wished I could get in touch and ask again. You know your number isn’t listed? That telephone company of yours sent me round in circles. Mr Sousa, you’ll make her come, won’t you? And yourself, as well, of course. I’ve got to press on now, as I’m already late to meet someone. But we must catch up. Will you promise?”

Peggy looked at Daniel, who shrugged slightly as if to say, “Up to you.” She really couldn’t think of a way to say no to his friendly sincerity. “We’ll be there,” she said.

“Let me give you my address,” said Fred, burrowing through his scarf and coat lapels to find his breast pocket.

“Has it changed?” asked Peggy.

“No.”

“Then there’s no need.” She blushed faintly again, to the further mystification of her husband.

Fred shook hands with both of them once again, tipped his hat, picked up his briefcase and hurried away, taking his whirlwind of friendly chatter with him and leaving the two of them in momentary silence.

Daniel was intrigued, to say the least. 

“Uh...Peg? You’re gonna have to fill in the blanks a bit for me here,” he began. “You’ve never mentioned that guy before. Who was he?”

“Really, darling,” replied Peggy crisply, plunging her hands into her pockets and starting to resume the walk towards the restaurant. “I can’t be expected to provide a catalogued list of everyone I’ve ever met, can I?”

“Okay...well, clearly you know him well enough to follow his work. Didn’t you think I’d be interested that you had a friend who’s an amputee?”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”

“ _ Peggy! _ ” The way she was shutting him down was enough to tell him that this was going to be a good story. “C’mon, why was he looking at us like the cat that swallowed the canary?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, looking determinedly forwards.

“Yes, you do.” He was struggling a bit to keep pace with her while navigating the slippery sidewalk. “He was grinning at you the whole time and you wouldn’t catch his eye. What’s the joke?”

“There’s no joke,” she contended crossly. “I met him when you first moved to L.A., that’s all.”

“Oh, really...should I be jealous?” He flashed her a teasing smile.

“What? Don’t be daft! He’s married! And at least fifteen years older than me!” She was building up steam nicely now, and her pace started quickening to match. “Look, I know  _ you _ may have been having a grand old adventure out there, basking in the sun and seeking comfort in the arms of pretty blonde nurses—”

“Nurses with excellent taste, though, you must admit.”

“—I’m just saying that while you were finding your own  _ creative _ ways to keep yourself from thinking about me—”

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

“— _ some _ of us were left behind here alone in the cold and the rain and the snow, fielding all Chief-Bloody-Thompson’s smug little comments about being everybody’s favourite agent except the one that mattered, with nothing to distract from the pain of missing you terribly.”

“OK, sure, I probably deserve that, but I don’t really understand why you’re cross about it right now. Hey, just wait up, will you?” 

Peggy had left him a good few yards behind, but the rant had done its job. She turned back to face him with a deep breath. “I was hurt, Daniel, and confused. I didn’t understand what had happened between us, and I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “You never did anything wrong,” he said earnestly. “You know that, right? I was just struggling with the whole concept, more than I expected to.”

“I know that now, but we hadn’t talked about it then. Fred helped me to understand things better from your perspective. He talked about what your everyday life must be like, and why it might have been hard for you to let me into it.”

Daniel looked away for a moment and swallowed. Turning back, he asked, “Where did you meet him?”

“At the Automat one night. He sees a lot of amputees and their families, and he loves to chat. Before I knew it, I was spilling out the whole story to him. I’m sorry, I know that must be strange for you, and I shouldn’t have talked about you behind your back. That’s why I never told you about him. But I never mentioned your name and honestly, I never thought I’d see him again. I certainly never thought you would! I’m sure we can trust him. It’s possible he’s a vicar.”

_ “Possible...?” _

“I just...really needed someone to talk to, and he was the right person at the right time. He opened my eyes and gave me a whole new insight into your world. It gave me hope that perhaps we weren't an entirely lost cause.” She looked up at him a little shyly. “You know, I still think about some of the things he said, especially when I can see you’ve had a hard day. It was really helpful in the beginning.”

Daniel nodded slowly, still holding her hand. “So basically,” he concluded, “what you’re saying is that this guy Fred is directly responsible, at least partly, for you being willing to give me a second chance, even after I was the world’s biggest idiot?” A grin spread over his face as he cupped her cheek in his hand. “He might just be my new favourite person.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Daniel did have a perfectly good reason for being in the basement ;-) One day, perhaps, I'll write his side of this story.
> 
> P.S. I realise that Peggy had a fiance called Fred, which is awkward. I completely forgot about it until I was half way through the fic, and I couldn't bring myself to change his name after I'd already got to know him. It was a pretty common name, right?


End file.
